Photograph by Eylul Aslan / Connected Archives
Words by Anna Conkling
The attack on the Kakhovka Dam in June 2023 came as a shock to Ukrainians, who had been plagued by a brutal war for over a year. Located in southern Ukraine, the dam had long been thought to withstand almost anything—only to crumble under the weight of relentless Russian bombardments. As the dam’s reservoir drained in the days that followed, unstoppable floods consumed residential buildings, destroyed ecosystems, displaced thousands, and killed dozens of people.
Today, the attack is deemed the largest environmental catastrophe in Ukraine since 1986 when a nuclear reactor at the Chernobyl power plant caused one of the worst nuclear disasters in history.
Months later, Ukraine’s growing environmental community can do little to mitigate the effects of the dam’s explosion. The disaster saw entire neighborhoods be swept away, deadly landmines washed onto shores, and hundreds of people trapped in occupation to live amongst the bacteria and waste of the dam waters. They can, however, force the world to bear witness by researching, documenting, and publishing the extent of the damage—despite the fact that, as with many climate activists worldwide, their voices have so far gone more or less unheard. Still, some activists and experts persist—such as Let’s Do It Ukraine, the country’s largest environmental justice organization.
On 24-hour eco-missions led by Iulia Markhel, Let’s Do It is collecting water samples from the lakes and rivers most impacted by the toxins and waste dumped into the waterways since Kakhovka’s demise. Equipped with bulletproof vests and ballistic helmets, the non-governmental organization’s volunteers risk their lives to collect water samples from the Dnipro River, the Black Sea, and the Odesa Bay, by filling two plastic jugs with water and a third with dirt from the riverbed. Their safety is never guaranteed as southern cities like Kherson grow increasingly more dangerous. But for Let’s Do It, documenting the unfolding ecocide and the collective harm it is inflicting on the planet is worth the risk.
Built almost 70 years ago under Soviet leader Josef Stalin and later Nikita Khrushchev, Kakhovka Dam has long been providing irrigation for nearby farms, drinking water for civilians, and cooling water to keep the Zaporizhzhia nuclear power station running. The waters have also been used by local fishermen, who relied on the dam’s marine life for their livelihoods.
But in the early hours of June 6, all that changed.
As footage emerged of water spilling into southern Ukraine from the Kakhova Dam, emergency first responders and volunteers rushed to the disaster scene to find 230 square miles of submerged territory across Kherson, Mykolaiv, Dnipropetrovsk, and Zaporizhzhia. The flooding impacted 100,000 residents directly, destroyed 14,000 houses, and killed at least 52 people. Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky said 20,000 animals in addition to 10,000 birds were “under threat of imminent death.” Thousands of fish were also seen dying at the bottom of the reservoir.
The attack is deemed the largest environmental catastrophe in Ukraine since 1986.
Some residents left in time to escape the flooding, and volunteers met those who remained with boats to help transport them through the water. At first, many in the hardest hit regions refused to flee despite pleas to leave before the waters entrapped them. Many did not believe that the waters would reach their homes—until they witnessed the severity of the attack for themselves. And even then, not everyone could be saved by those leading evacuation efforts because of ongoing Russian shelling.
While volunteer efforts responded to the unfolding catastrophe, emergency services received calls from Ukrainians in Russian-occupied areas begging for help. But the pleas were left unanswered as there is no way in or out of areas under Russian control.
For Iulian Luchko, a member of Kherson’s local administration and Let’s Do It volunteer, the hardest part of the chaos was hearing the calls for help from those he could not reach. “The most terrible horrible moment was when people were calling from the left bank on the roof of their houses that were flooded,”said Luchko. “They still called Ukrainian services, begging to [be] saved.”
The situation was only made worse for those who were forced to remain in the ruin when an animal cemetery was flooded, bringing up the old carcasses as well as rats and insects. A chemical warehouse was also submerged, pouring toxic liquids into the environment. “From an ecological perspective, the situation is [very] dangerous,” said Luchko.
The damages of the dam have totaled $14 billion in damages. While the immediate recovery efforts required $1.82 billion, the total reconstruction and recovery is estimated to cost a further $5.04 billion. More local efforts to help southern Ukraine recover from the effects of the dam have been funded by non-governmental organizations like Let’s Do It, which has no international funding. Each eco-mission costs around $2,000 in fuel, supplies like bags, markers, and gloves, and team accommodations—money that Markhel and other volunteers pull from their resources to make the trips happen.
“We pay for the missions ourselves,” said Markhel. “We are at risk every moment. It is dangerous because, at any moment, your life can stop. But I know no one would do it if it wasn’t for me and our group. So that’s why we are not stopping.”
Markhel and her team have gone on three eco-missions to Kakhovka since the dam explosion. Their trips begin at 5 a.m. when the nationwide curfew in Ukraine before an eight-hour drive to the south. They pass a number of military checkpoints on the way. And when they arrive, the volunteers work quickly to gather samples of the bodies of water they are testing—because slowing down could mean death by Russian bombardment.
After collecting the samples, volunteers write the time, date, and geolocation on each plastic jug before bringing them back to Odesa, a nearby city where the laboratories they work with are based. It’s not always straightforward. Markhel recalled how, on her first eco-mission, she did not arrive in Odesa until three hours past the 11 p.m. curfew. As she approached a military checkpoint, a soldier ordered her to open the back of the car so that he could perform a security check. Collecting land and water samples is forbidden, leaving Markhel to beg for mercy. “Please don’t stop us,” she told the soldier questioning her.
“It is dangerous because, at any moment, your life can stop. But I know no one would do it if it wasn’t for me and our group. So that’s why we are not stopping.”
They eventually let her pass, but this is a rare occurrence. It has recently become more difficult to embark on new missions. The future of Kherson, in particular, remains uncertain, and it has been increasingly difficult for Ukrainian soldiers to infiltrate the occupied areas of the region. When Markhel’s team cannot get to Kherson and other regions, they rely on local volunteers like Luchko.
“I’m collecting samples in the most dangerous city compared to other cities,” said Luchko. “Every day, I am under shelling—in danger. The river is the first line of defense; but on the opposite side, there are sometimes Russian snipers. They can see me from the left bank. That’s why you need to be very fast and wear only civilian clothes.”
At times, all collection work is canceled if Ukraine’s military deems it too dangerous, and Let’s Do It is forced to rely on their work in other areas to collect samples. In Mykolaiv, an hour’s drive from Kherson, for instance, the situation is more stable—and despite frequent shelling—collection work can more or less carry on with volunteers wearing just one bulletproof vest each.
“There are times where we needed to move in the evening to not be targeted by Russian forces,” said Mila Yurchenko, a volunteer in Mykolaiv. The threats aren’t always visible, they are also underground. “We [might] know how to get to the [collection point safely], but we still go—even despite the landmines.”
Despite imminent threat, the volunteers with Let’s Do It are single handedly informing the public about Russia’s eco-crimes on Ukrainian land with the long-term vision of creating a safer, more stable environment for future generations. It’s an urgent dream.
Since bringing back the water samples for testing, the results have been staggering. They show dangerously high levels of metals like zinc and cadmium, which are toxic to much aquatic life and, if eaten by humans, can cause serious organ damage.
The samples have also shown traces of arsenic, cobalt, petroleum, and polychlorinated biphenyls—all of which pose health hazards to humans. Pollution has even made its way into ground wells, which some rely on for their freshwater since Ukraine’s access to clean drinking water has been faltering throughout the war. Even after treatment, the water is not safe to drink in some regions. A lack of fresh water means that many in southern Ukraine are drinking from the polluted water of the dam.
“The problem of unsafe drinking water affects five million people [across] three regions,” said Markhel. “What I am doing and what Let’s Do It is doing will impact not just them, but people in Ukraine and beyond. [The] environment has no borders. Ecocide in Ukraine has already destroyed many ecosystems. This is about water, oxygen, food, about our environment—it’s about our life.”
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